


found someone to carry me home

by behradtarazi



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Gen, Mace And Luminara Are Siblings, Mace Windu Appreciation Day, mace and luminara had the same master
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24343927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behradtarazi/pseuds/behradtarazi
Summary: He will always want to help her. That might be what love is.-Mace cares more than most people think, and tries to help Luminara when she doesn't seem to be doing well.For Mace Windu Appreciation Day
Relationships: Barriss Offee & Luminara Unduli, Cyslin Myr & Luminara Unduli, Cyslin Myr & Mace Windu, Depa Billaba & Mace Windu, Luminara Unduli & Mace Windu
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	found someone to carry me home

“I’m concerned about Master Unduli,” Mace says slowly, methodically, the true depth of his worry only betrayed by the slight crease in his forehead and the darkness in his eyes. “I don’t believe she’s been getting enough sleep. And she feels...off in our Force bond, though I can’t quite name how.”

Depa tilts her head, his disquiet mirrored plainly across her face. “You know how Luminara is,” she replies. “She’s tough on herself. And not very good at opening up when she needs help. She’ll listen to you, though, she always does. You mean a lot to her, even if neither of you will admit it.”

Mace gives her a hard look - the only reprimand he can manage in this post-war world, where they have all started clinging to the few people they have left with all of their strength, and there is not one person still alive who could truly blame them for it - but Depa just gives him a slight, amused smile in return. 

“You had the same Master, Mace. She’s family. And besides, she’s Cyslin’s little echo, remember?”

“How could I forget?” There’s a note of fondness in his voice now, a tone laced with warm memories of Cyslin Myr and the too-quiet, too-clever girl she had taken as her Padawan long after Mace had grown up. In all honesty, Luminara may very well be the closest thing to a sister he has ever had, and it shows, sometimes, in simple, near-silent ways. Though not lately - while the rest of the Jedi have come together, Luminara has drifted farther apart, more distant than he has ever seen her.

(Quietly, the thought of losing her, too, scares him, he who has lost so many already.)

“I’ll speak with her,” he says finally, already drafting and throwing away no less than five possible opening lines in his mind. “And I’ll let you know if any other...assistance is required.”

He means that he will tell her if he fails spectacularly and traumatically to make anything remotely better, and Depa only hums, placing a light, comforting hand on his arm. “You’ll be alright.”

-

“Master Unduli.”

“Master Windu.”

Mace finds Luminara in the gardens, a secluded spot underneath a tree that not many frequent - Cyslin and her lineage claim it as their own, anyways, and most are too intimidated at even the sight of Mace to try and sit near him. Here and now, up close and personal, Mace finds even more cause for concern in Luminara’s appearance. She is perfectly dressed as always, robes not even the slightest fraction out of place, but there is a tiredness in her eyes, a weariness in her posture that sets a burst of protective fire blazing in Mace, a desire to keep her far away from whatever clearly haunts her so. He checks his temper smoothly as he sits down beside her, moving with that quiet grace they both share, though hers is more like a dance and his is more like a fight.

He can feel her inquisitive gaze on him, but he is silent for a long, long while before he speaks, words slow. “I am worried about you. You’ve been...distant, and I can feel that something isn’t as it should be.”

She tenses slightly, almost imperceptibly, and he sees her swift denial coming before she can even begin to reply. Four words stop her short: “Talk to me, Nara.” The nickname is familiar like an old photograph or a handmade sweater, and Mace feels a twinge of guilt at the momentary surprise on Luminara’s face. She has to know that he cares. She has to.

“You know I dislike nicknames,” she says, and he’s half-certain that it was meant to be almost teasing, but it comes out broken, and  _ oh, _ that fire is raging now.

“I know you made an exception for myself and Cyslin, once,” comes his quiet reply. “What’s going on?” The ‘once’ hurts to stay, sticks in his throat like a sharp shard of glass, cutting deep. They are not as close as they once were, back when she had looked up at him with so much awe and he hadn’t entirely known what to do with it. They are not as close as they once were, but it is not a small part of him that hopes that they can grow to be.

Luminara hesitates, cold and removed, and Mace is starting to think that he should have left this to someone warmer, more naturally inclined to this sort of conversation, like Depa or even Vos, when she finally gives in. She straightens her immaculate robes, a calming habit he's watched her develop over the years, and only manages one word in her usual cool tone before he can feel something in her snap: "Barriss."

Ah.

Of course. He should have realized. Losing a Padawan is one kind of pain. But what happened with Barriss...that is a worse hurt entirely. 

Luminara's words come out in a rush - but still, they are clipped, quietly careful, and it is what she lets Mace feel in the Force that tells him just how badly she is hurting, just how harshly she has placed the blame on herself. It’s almost overwhelming, a sudden flood of emotion, and he has an urge to cry that he knows comes from her and not him, and he watches her hold back, still restrained even as she starts to crumble, so much strength in her that he’s not sure if his pride outweighs his terror or if his terror outweighs his pride.

He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, and stays. He stays, steady and unflinching, and listens, keeps her grounded, and gives her all the tenderness through their Force bond that he can, soothes away the edges of panic in her mind. “You did your best,” he says.

“It wasn’t good enough” is her simple reply, and it’s laced with the painful poison of self-loathing, and all he can really do is say, “We were at war, Luminara. We were at war. Things happened that you couldn’t have prepared her for even if you had known they would. I would take this burden from you if I could, but even the Jedi can’t change the past.”

She manages a nod, and he watches her slowly pull herself together with no small amount of concern. She reminds him painfully of Cyslin in this moment: fiercely independent and self-reliant, though Luminara doesn’t have their Master’s biting sarcasm and wide grin. He’s almost grateful for that, in a sense. He isn’t quite sure he could survive living with Cyslin's ghost. Her echo already stings badly enough.

“Luminara,” he says softly when she has forced her walls back up, and she inclines her head slightly towards him, hands balled into fists on her lap. “I am...available if you ever need someone to talk to. Or to spar with, perhaps. My door is open for you at any time.” He knows her too well to expect that she will take him up on it easily, but it’s important to him that she knows. He will always want to help her. That might be what love is.

"Why would you-" she cuts herself off abruptly, and he can see her shove her feelings aside. "Thank you, Master Windu."

"Luminara," he says again, voice firmer now. "You were my Master's Padawan. Cyslin would want us to help each other. And you are one of the finest Jedi - one of the finest people I have ever had the honor of knowing. I care about you. I want to help in any way I can.”

She is almost achingly silent, completely still, and it’s not until she ducks her head that he realizes she might be crying. He can’t quite tell, and he’s sure she’d be grateful for that. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t ask, only wraps his arms around her in a cautious hug, feels her stiffen and then slowly, surely hug back. It’s not perfect, not polished, slightly awkward and fumbling, but they’re trying. They’re trying.

Mace holds his little sister tightly, and it’s enough.


End file.
